


Open up (we're broken people)

by iwanttobelieve, Wellalright_now_off_the_dancefloor



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - The Breakfast Club Fusion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Depressive character, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, I promise this ends happy, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Like have you seen the movie, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sad with a Happy Ending, Suicidal Thoughts, The Breakfast Club Au, i promise they'll get better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-21 15:02:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3696764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwanttobelieve/pseuds/iwanttobelieve, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wellalright_now_off_the_dancefloor/pseuds/Wellalright_now_off_the_dancefloor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...and these children that you spit on,<br/>as they try to change their worlds are<br/>immune to your consultations.  They're<br/>quite aware of what they're going through...</p><p>   - David Bowie</p><p>Dear Mr. Vernon...we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was that we did wrong.But we think you're crazy to make us write this essay telling you who we think we are, what do you care?  You see us as you want to see us...in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athelete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal. Correct?  That's the way we saw each other at seven o'clock this morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Price tag

**Author's Note:**

> Okay okay okay wow I am so fucking excited about this AU okay like really really excited,because I worked super hard to choose which band member of which band seemed to fit more with what character based on how they are see by the fans and how they actually are,that's why it's such an odd mix. All their stories are similar to the original movie,I just changed a few things,but basically it's the same concept as the movie. You can see why I decided who would be who on this post I made : http://boo-boomerang.tumblr.com/post/115667659873/the-breakfast-club-au 
> 
> Seriously I really hope my english don't ruin this,the first chapter is yet to be beta'd but I really hope I did a good job with this. I hope you like it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo,this chapter has been edited by someone amazing,thank you again even though you're busy. Ilysm

Chapter 1: Princess

_"Don't get happy for something given for free, because everything comes with a price, even freedom and you will have to pay for it."_

Popularity is considered by a lot of teenagers in high school to be a blessing. Popularity is an open door to many opportunities in high school - one to friends, one to victories, one to gifts, one to admiration, praise, respect.

Some people are worth more than others. Some will help you to get away from mistakes and slip ups. You could blame it on someone else who was worth less than you, ruining a life in the process, but why would you care? They weren't as good as you, weren't worth as much as you, didn't have as much as you. Insignificant. Unimportant. Trash to be used and thrown away.

Popularity means that you are better than others, because you have more talent, more money, better looks, and everyone wants to be like you. Everyone wants to have what you have, no matter the price, it was either be you, be with you or have you. It was still something they could never afford. Popularity means that you are known by everyone, with your name on everyone's lips. Popularity means that you must be careful with what you say and do or repercussions will come for you and you will lose everything you ever had, everything that was handed to you on that golden platter.

Popularity means that you are surrounded by copies of yourself, clones, and they will praise and praise and praise what you are and what you do just to be kept by your side, spitting out venom when something you do is not to their taste, looking at you with fake smiles, throats filled and bubbling and spilling over the edge with passive-aggressive words to shape and reform you to their liking again. Popularity means that you must please them, always pleasing others, whether you like it or not, because it's always better to keep them than to wake up one morning and find they've turned their back on you. Because it's better to pretend to be someone (something) else than to be who you are and be thrown away.

And they said that high school years were meant to be the best years of your life.

Gerard felt so impossibly weary, like all his life had been drained out of him. He felt dead inside. He had to keep pretending he was happy with this, he had to keep smiling and keeping up the pretence, but all he was was miserable. He hated the people that just pretended to like him even though they both knew they loathed him, but the feeling was mutual. It was poisonous and toxic and all sorts of messed up but Gerard needed them to stop him from feeling alone, so he supposed it was a win-win situation.

But Gerard was losing more than he was winning anything. He was losing himself, little pieces of his soul that broke off the more time he spent with his popular friends and expecting parents, no matter how _fucking_ hard he tried every single day to stay on top of everyone. He hated it. He barely saw his brother at school any more, his so-called 'friends' keeping him away, saying that he wasn't 'cool' or 'worth their time'. They didn't like how nerdy he was, or the way he dressed. Oh, if they only knew how alike Mikey and Gerard were, they would leave him alone. Unfortunately, Gerard could never afford to let such a thing loose. He was trapped in it his web of lies, and he just wanted to be free.

But if he broke free, then everything would be against him, him against the world, him against all the mistakes he made, against all the things he said.

Everything, and everyone, would be against him, and Gerard didn’t know if he was ready for that.

One of the good things that did come from popularity was the confidence boost; he learned how to appreciate himself. He learned how to feel good about how he looks. Jet black hair (sometimes messy and unkempt but perfect at the same time) that framed his stubble-free ivory skin, his nose that turned up ever so slightly at the end ( _it wasn't a pixie nose, Gerard would insist loudly, it wasn't_ ), his long lashes and eyes that people would swear changed with every flash of hazel, some days outlined in eyeliner, other days with eyeshadow. The natural arch of his eyebrows. His infectious grin that promised mischief. The way his clothes fit just the way he wanted them to. All of these things weren't lost on Gerard. Nor were his talents, if he was being perfectly honest. He _knew_ that he was a more than decent artist and singer. He knew all of these things. He was happy with who he was. It was who he had become that was the problem.

In his lifetime, all that Gerard had ever wanted was to be himself, not the person or object he was supposed to be. All he wanted was to talk about what he actually liked, not what they thought he liked, or what he was meant to like. He wanted to dress the way he wanted, in the clothes he wanted, not how they liked. All Gerard wanted was to be himself. He hated himself for pretending, for being so desperate to please others that he changed and lied about who he really was. He was a fraud.

The one person he could still truly trust was his brother, Mikey. Gerard had been taking care of him since he was little because their parents were at each others' throats the whole time, fighting when they should have been raising their children. Mikey was the one constant in his life that Gerard could rely on. Yet even that seemed to be changing, as even his brother was starting to turn his back on him, and Gerard was feeling more and more drained of any remnant of good in his life. All his happiness was useless materialism and expensive gifts masked as apologies, things to bury himself in and forget that he was still alive.

Now that he thought about it, Gerard had never had an easy childhood. Or life. For as long as he can remember, his parents never really got along well. He still wonders why they got married in first place, or even why they thought having children would be a good idea when they could barely stand each other. It seems to him that he was only ever an excuse to get back at each other in the pettiest ways - he was both an excuse for divorce and an excuse to keep it together. They sometimes blamed him, but they always made it up to him by buying him expensive presents he didn't want or need. It was a constant competition of who cared for him more, even though when they actually didn't,they just tried to drain each other's money and he was the excuse. Then a few years later, Mikey Way entered the world and, just like Gerard, became another excuse they cared little about. So Gerard took care of him, and raised him as their parents should have. Eventually, Mikey became his only best friend and the only one he could talk to, but Gerard felt like he was becoming one of those people,and maybe Mikey saw that in Gerard too. He was scared, scared for Gerard and what he was doing with himself.

Gerard should have known that drinking and smoking his problems away could only last for so long before someone noticed.

That was why his father was driving him to New Jersey's High School on a Saturday morning for detention. Maybe his problem was the reason he was here, facing what he thought someone like him would never get. Maybe it was true, maybe he had a problem, maybe today meant change, but would Gerard admit it? Probably not. Because that's what popularity does to a person - it fucks them up. Maybe, if he wasn't popular he wouldn't have gone to that party ( _it was two years ago now, he can't forget it_ ), and maybe he wouldn't have had those stupid stupid drinks and that goddamn pot, and then he wouldn't have had the inexplicable urge to do it all again. He might not have discovered after his third hit how easily alcohol and drugs drive away his thoughts and pain, and he might not have tried to find solace in the bottom of a bottle or in a stranger's lent pipe. In all likeliness, he would never have drank again.

Maybe today, as his father drove him to New Jersey's High School on a Saturday morning, as he thought of what he had done and why he was here today, something would change. Only maybe, because Gerard can't imagine himself breaking free of what he has come to be today. It seems too close to a dream for Gerard to hope too much. But maybe, as the car stopped next to New Jersey's High school on a Saturday morning, he would change.

He let a heavy sigh escape his lips as he stared at the building.

"I can't believe someone like me is actually here," Gerard said absently. "I can't believe you couldn't get me out of this." He shook his head, turning away from the grim brick building outside the car.

"It's not like what I did was so terrible, I'm not the only one, I'm not defective or anything,” biting back the shy _right?_ threatening to come out.

"I promise I'll make it up to you, son," his father smiled at him, "and what you did is completely normal, so don't worry, you are not defective, and it could have happened to anyone." The only response he got back from his son was another heavy sigh.

"I guess you're right. I'm not perfect," _but I'm supposed to be_ , "but now I have to pay the price, right?"

"Exactly! I'm proud of you son, have a nice day!" With that, he drove off as soon as Gerard got out of the car. He stared up at the building again.

_But I have to be perfect. Today is nothing. I can brush it off later._

Because it was true - popularity meant perfection, but it was also a price Gerard could never fully pay.


	2. Grades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never worth people on the grades they get at school

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is plainly sad,sorry,but hey so is the movie,what were you expecting?
> 
> Update: this chapter has been edited by someone super talented,you should totally check it out

Chapter 2: Brain

_"Life is the hardest test you will ever have, and I failed to learn how to live."_

 

 

"Is this the first time or the last time we do this?"

"The last, I promise," Patrick muttered.

"I hope you will not waste time while you are in there. You know what you have to do."

"Mom, it's detention. We aren't supposed to work or study, or do anything related to school work. All we are asked and expected to do is just sit there and do nothing."

His mother rolled her eyes, becoming increasingly annoyed with him. "It is not my problem young man, I expect you to figure out a way to study."

He knew he was misbehaving by being stubborn and answering back. Patrick sighed, defeated, nodding as he looked down at his hand. "Yes, of course mom, I will.”

 

Like every other student, Patrick Stump was expected to work hard and get good grades, to help him cement his future with a stable, certain and respectable career. Like every other student, Patrick Stump was expected to study at home and do his homework properly. Like every other student, Patrick Stump was expected to behave politely and be respectful of his elders, teachers and peers. Like every other student, he was expected to do his very best. Patrick Stump, however, was not every other student, and did more than just his very best.

Patrick Stump was, to many, the very personification of the perfect student. He was the student that teachers would be relieved to have in their classes, and the student that inspired envy in the hearts of his classmates. He was always meticulous and applied in his work, he was always on time and never missed a day of class. He studied religiously at home and was always attentive in class, he asked questions when he didn't understand, and (if the answer he received wasn’t enough) would spend days slaving over the topics until he mastered them.

Patrick Stump always got the best grades, always. To get under an A would be distressing for him, but that was mostly because he never got the opportunity to experience it. _He always had to be the best.Always._ His parents told him he had to be the best, and only the best, and anything less would not be tolerated. He always had to be best.

In school, he was in various clubs: the physics club, the math club, the computing club, and the ones his parents thought were necessary for him to keep excelling in every subject. He was also in a music club. His parents despised it - until they learned their son was the best. Of course, his parents wanted proof, and it turned out that little Patrick was a musical prodigy and learned how to play most instruments he could get his hands on in a matter of months. His parents weren't upset anymore. He was the best again.

_‘Best’_

Oh, how Patrick hated that one simple word. ‘Best’ had become the soundtrack to his life. ‘ _Best_ son’. ‘ _Best_ buddy’. Any time his parents could use it, they did. It had haunted him for so long, he wasn’t sure when _best_ became a taunt in his mind instead of praise. _Maybe_ , he thinks, _it was when his parents actually did start using it to hurt him_. “ _Best_ at nothing”. “We told you to be the _best_ , Patrick”. “You're always the _best_ at upsetting your mother". Patrick hates that word. He hatesithatesithatesit. Patrick hates it when his parent are upset because of something he did or said or asked or stared at. Patrick also hates school. But mostly he hates his parents.

But Patrick was raised and told that you must always love your parents, no matter what. So he loved them, and forgave them too. That was what good sons did. Patrick knew that. They listened to their parents, followed their rules, and forgave them if sometimes they set their expectations too high. Because his parents knew best.

Rules and orders. His life was based on these - rules and orders and brainwashing words and fake affection and patronising praise. “Good boy”, “well done buddy" and "I'm so proud of my baby" were all common phrases in Patrick’s youth, and even to the very day. Patrick felt like he was a circus animal every time he heard those words, doing tricks and putting on a show for his parents. When he was younger, he found comfort in those words. He was making his parents proud and happy. Now those words were fake, cold and forced, because understood now, he understood that this was an obligation he had to fulfil, and obligations are not deserving of praise. Yet his parents kept on saying the words without meaning them, because that was what was expected of parents.

Patrick’s life was also built on expectations, expectations that were placed on his fragile shoulder ever since he was born. Expectations that destroyed his childhood entirely, destroyed the innocence and dreams and games, tore through them like a hurricane. Everything had to be logical. If the toy phone rang, no one was there to answer, but there was always someone to crush the fantasy and tell him that there was no one on the other side. Other children played dress-up, made fake dinner with toys, shot each other with water guns. Not for Patrick. Patrick never got to enjoy that because his parent told him it was stupid and smart children didn't have imaginary friends or played in dirt or jumped in puddles after the rain. No. Smart children played with puzzles and smart toys. Smart children stayed in their room and learned how to count to ten and more. Smart children didn't have dreams because smart children know dreams die when you grow up. _Patrick had dreams and wanted approval and love and hugs not angry shouts and lectures_. Patrick Stump wanted to be a normal kid, but his parents found that unacceptable. _Smart kids grow up fast_ , they said, _smart kids have no friends._

As Patrick grew up, he felt more and more heavy with expectations and rules to obey and work to do, so heavy he became heavy too. As he became a teenager, his small body started to reflect his stress, putting on more weight. The more stressed he was, the more he ate. And of course, his parents saw that as rebellion, because their perfect child can't be fat, their perfect child must be perfect. Getting fat was not perfect. Not for them.

Once they thought it had gone too far, they put him on a hard and strict diet, saying that they were worried about his health and that it was only for the best. ( _Best. There was his most hated word again_ ). If it was for the best, then Patrick had to do what he thought was the best in order to lose weight and what he thought was the best was to stop eating altogether. He starved himself because his parents were ashamed of what he had become. Ashamed, and they showed it without hesitation. They sneered at him and reminded him how disgusting he was. Patrick just wanted to show them that he could be normal, that he could weigh a normal amount. Patrick didn’t know that normal teenagers didn’t starve themselves to make other people happy. Patrick didn’t know that no-one should starve themselves until it was too late and he was just papery skin on bone. Only when it was too late were his parents once again proud.

As Patrick grew up, his parents got worse and worse. His time at school got worse and worse. His parents kept repeating and repeating what they wanted of him and screaming fury when _he just couldn’t do it_. At school, Patrick barely had friends, just acquaintances from his clubs ( _which he absolutely hated_ ), who he only spoke to when necessary. He didn't have time for friends. _They were a waste of time, unnecessary for education_ , Patrick reminded himself, _a distraction from the important parts of his life and future_.

Pete Wentz was Patrick’s only true friend. Pete was the only one who seemed interested in him enough to listen to him vent and cry and give him the comfort his childhood had lacked. It was around that time that Patrick realised how unhappy he was with his life. More specifically, it was during a conversation he had with Pete at lunch.

"Pete, are you happy?"

Pete had stared up at the ceiling before responding, "Is anyone actually happy in this life?"

"So you aren't?"

( _and Patrick remembers the way Pete turned to face him, the probing look in his eyes apparent enough to make Patrick squirm and shift, uncomfortable under the scrutiny_ )

"Are _you_ happy, Patrick?"

And although he had never answered the question, his silence spoke volumes. Patrick had never been happy - he never had time, he was always trying to please others, doing as his parents wanted. Patrick wasn't happy. Patrick was stress, pressure, sadness, despair, and many other things, but not happiness. Never happiness. Patrick wished he knew what happiness felt like. Patrick thought Pete was something close, but still not quite there. Patrick loved Pete. Pete was always there when Patrick needed him, always there to tell him that it would be ok, always there to talk him out of the stupid stupid thought running in his head, because smart people didn't have stupid stupid thoughts running through their heads. But Patrick wasn't smart, and he let them run free. _Stupid thoughts that made him want to do stupid things. Stupid things to make the sadness go away, to make him stop hurting, to make him stop feeling like he was alone sad stressed anxious scared hated stupid_. Patrick felt all those things and more, and the stupid stupid thoughts told him stupid stupid ways to end them. And Patrick knew he was stupid enough to believe them.

When Pete had moved away a few years ago, Patrick was left alone with no-one to cling onto like a drowning man and a lifeline, no-one to hold him, no-one to listen, no-one to cry, no-one to stop him. Because Patrick needed someone to stop him from doing the thing he so desperately wanted to do. Because without the support Pete gave him, Patrick was nothing but an empty shell. Patrick was nothing more than a set of grades. Patrick hated himself.

Obviously, teachers ( _and isn’t_ that _ironic_ ) started to notice his behaviour. He remembers the letter they told him to give his parents. He remembers it was a busy Tuesday, the road was full of a never ending stream of cars, the sky was grey and the air smelled like rain. He remembers how unmemorable the day was. He remembers that the letter wasn’t sealed. It wasn't sealed, and even though Patrick had been raised, ordered and told to never read, use, or watch anything that wasn't his, Patrick disobeyed and read it anyway.

_"Patrick is extremely bright, but I believe he needs help. He is displaying common signs of teenage depression, perhaps brought on by stress over his workload. Please come in at 5pm on Saturday to discuss this."_

It was short, brief, and it made Patrick regret ever reading it. It was the first time Patrick seriously considered the stupid thing. He remembers how his insides tingled, his throat closed and eyes burned as he watched the cars go by, never stopping. They were so fast. _One step could end it all_. One step. One step that his whole mind, body and soul was screaming at him to take. _It would be so easy._

He didn’t take the step.

That night at dinner, he remembers how much he regretted not taking the step. Not jumping into the traffic. Patrick thinks that the face his dad had made when he read the note, one of pure disappointment, will be imprinted in the back of his mind for as he lives. He asked the same question Pete asked him, the one that seems like an age ago.

"You are happy, aren’t you Patrick?"

"Yes, dad, of course I am,” had been his automatic response.

"You know, we want you to be happy."

And it wasn't a "how-can-we-make-you-happy" kind of sentence. It was a statement, a rule. It wasn’t meant in the way parents usually mean when they’re concerned about their child. It was just another rule - Patrick had to be happy. There was no other option, and that terrified Patrick, knowing that this was the one rule he could never follow.

Patrick kept going. He was still sad, and he was still constantly aware of how easy it would all be to end it all with just one move, one step, one push. But he was a coward, and he still is a coward and he knows he will probably always be one. He wished he took that step and got crushed by a car, he wished he hadn’t thrown away his father's sleeping pills, he wished the wind would have blown harder that one time on the school's roof. Patrick wished he was dead right this moment, this Saturday morning, facing New Jersey’s High School’s steps as his mother drove away. He had failed and he was facing the consequences he never wanted to see. Patrick wanted to run away but Patrick was raised to be a good boy, to have good grades and never swear. Patrick was raised to be polite and always be there to help, to say please and thank you, sorry and you're welcome. Patrick was raised to follow the rules and obey to orders. Because Patrick was a good boy. And so today, on a Saturday morning at New Jersey's High School, he promised himself to change and never repeat his failure ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you cry? Or did it at least made you feel something? Tell me cause I'm dying to know. Sorry if I made your baby suffer.
> 
> Pleeaaaasseee tell me your thoughts on this,because this may be sad but I didn't actually kill anyone.
> 
> Xoxo


	3. Loser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being an athlete is draining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took weeks to make this and what do I give you? Bullshit. And it took me two days to publish this chapter because the update of my IPad fucked something up and copy paste stopped working,but in the end I found a way and here's the chapter! Anyway,sorry.

 

Chapter 3 : Athlete

_"All my life I've been told that losers have no place in this world,I guess that's why I feel like I don't belong."_

The life of an athlete is difficult and most of the times depends on what sport they practice,then their diet or activities are focused on say sport. Let's take an example: Basketball. For basketball players the determining factor between good player and great player is the diet,and of course,constant workout. These athletes have a very muscular build with very little fat percentage,which is hard to maintain. A basketball player needs to build strength,stamina,agility and explosiveness.

But you see,Tyler Joseph don't have any of that,and he's still the best player of the New Jersey's High School team. Tyler does have a bit of consistent muscles and agility,and maybe speed,he wasn't very sure of the last one,his dad will probably make him work on that. Like he makes him work on everything else. That must be why he's the best and hasn't lost a match,well he did. But details are not important at this moment,they are not,details make his head a mess,and his head can't be a mess because his dad would not allow that because that's a loser thing and Tyler is clearly not,as you can tell,a loser.

Good thing his father can't read his mind,because he would be clearly disappointed his winner have such messy and disturbed thoughts about mostly everything around him. Cause you see,Tyler has many many problems,but god forbid ever acknowledging them,because that's for losers. Like his dad says. Because Tyler can't be a winner,and have problems,how is a winner going to win if they have anything else that good scores and grades in mind? They don't,cause that's what losers do,they don't win.

Losers don't belong in a world as hard as this one,because losers are weak and losers are nerds and losers will never do anything successful and losers will be taken away by natural selection,for all the reasons said before. Tyler says so himself because that's what his father told him.

Mr.Joseph tells a lot of things,mostly how incredible and strong he was in high school. You see,Mr.Joseph used to be in the wrestling team,back when he was teenager in his oh so cold Ohio. Mr.Joseph always tells Tyler how much he was loved and respected,how tall and strong,how he never lost a match,and he put the weak in place,how he pushed the losers away from his way,because they were losers,and so, lesser than him,who was admired and popular.

Mr.Joseph was a bad person at the time,but he was proud. He was a jock and for a long time Tyler thought that was okay. Because Tyler wasn't allowed to think other than by his father. His father was his mind and action,the puller of the strings,the captain,a ventriloquist putting words that weren't his own in his mouth,Tyler was just a toy,a marionette,a lifeless doll who needed someone to be kept right. Tyler wasn't allowed to speak or think for himself,it has been that way for so long,that one day when he finally noticed,he knew it was too late.

Tyler became aware of what he was becoming because of his father,but he was in too deep to get out,his father used his fragile mind to build a new person he wasn't. Mr.Joseph knew Tyler was weak,he knew he would grow to be a useless loser,because Tyler wasn't like his older brother,who was strong and brave,who was aware of what his father was doing,Tyler was almost a mirror of his mother,creative,petite,with a wide mind and so many ideas. Tyler was weak,short,almost scrawny,with crooked teeth like his beloved mother,Tyler was frail and innocent. But as he grew up,it was becoming noticeable that his father was not happy with how his son was growing,he was too much like his mother and not enough like him,or his brother. Tyler didn't like sports,and he hated wrestling like his father intended to teach him,Tyler hated it,he didn't like the contact he had to do with his opponents,or how he wasn't strong enough. Mrs.Joseph fought with his husband because of this,after one day Tyler came him injured,injured by his own father who couldn't contain the rage he felt when he just knew his son was not normal,when he saw he would never be like him. Tyler broke his leg at the age of four years old when his father tried to teach him wrestling and broke it when he knew.

As Tyler grew up,he tried to make his dad proud,but he would just ignore him most of the time,so he stayed with his mother who teached him many cool things,because she noticed who and what he was growing to be,because Tyler would not be normal,Tyler would be special,Tyler would bring shame to his father. Because Tyler's brain was not normal,but Tyler wasn't broken,at least so said his mother. But it wasn't like that for his father.

Tyler would twitch,cry and scream for no reason,he would climb things,let one incomplete activity to start another one because he got bored,he couldn't concentrate in one thing,he was always moving and either talked to much or not enough. He was impatient,he always answered before a questions was finished or couldn't wait until his turn. His father said that it was normal in kids his age to be like that,but he was actually trying to ignore it. Because Tyler has big problems.

But when he got in school it just got worse,his father became more severe and his mother more worried,because Mr.Joseph was becoming more verbally violent with his son,and he would be worse if his mother and brother wouldn't be there to stop him. Mr.Joseph was furious against his wife,furious because she made a "broken" son instead of something more like him. This later on caused the divorce of the two,she won custody of her children,for a few years. This shoked Tyler deeply,because no matter what his father did,he still loved him,even if he couldn't do wrestling,or because he wasn't strong or all the things he father was at his age. Tyler wanted to be a good boy and make him proud.

Tyler discovered his passion for basketball when he was eight,and when his mother was still alive. He used to play alone with his brother in their backyard until one day his mom took him to a club where he trained and enjoyed it very much. Sometimes he didn't want to go,so her mom let him stay,and sometimes he couldn't go cause he went to see a really funny doctor for a few months,and one day he started his medication and he felt even better than he was. He kept playing basketball at his dad place and showed him all his tricks,and for the first time he saw his dad smile proudly,at least he thought it was pride. But it really wasn't.

Everything went down the drain when his mother died,and his brother moved out,leaving him alone with the monster hiding in his father when he was twelve. His dad knew about Tyler's problem,and about his medication. He stopped buying it because he thought it was just a waste of money and mostly,to see what would happens,he thought that Tyler would seem more energetic,but it was all the contrary. Without his pills,Tyler was restless,everything seemed blurry and nothing seemed to make sense,he was even more distracted that he normally was,his couldn't concentrate in anything or work at school properly,he would stop speaking sometimes and would barely listen to anything,and became careless,well,more anyway. Tyler was a mess and his father took an entire year to understand what happened and why caused it. In that year,Tyler lived in hell because his father refused to understand,he refused to listen,he kept blaming his mother,and Tyler. Everything bad was Tyler's fault,the vase that broke?Tyler,where is the remote control?,Tyler,why doesn't the computer work?Tyler,I just hit my head with the door,Tyler. Tyler Tyler Tyler everything Tyler,everything was his fault. His father spent his time screaming at him,asking why he couldn't play basketball properly,or why his grades were as bad,why he couldn't do anything right and asking why he became so useless out of the sudden,asking why he was even born if he couldn't do anything properly.

It was only the year after that,when the school called and asked if Tyler was taking his medication or not,that Mr.Joseph understood. And of course he blamed Tyler,and Tyler went with it.

Tyler went with everything,because it was his dad,after all,he was all he had left,and he was good to him,because he started taking his pills and acted like he was finally fixed. He told him all the stories from his young years in high school,sometimes telling Tyler he should act like this or do that to be as popular and respected as he was,and of course,Tyler still being young,absorbing everything like a sponge,did it.

His training became more and more constant,he would train everyday under his father watch,he had to obey everything he said until he couldn't stand anymore,get yelled at for not getting up then left alone. Tyler's body was full of bruises and ached most of the time,he didn't really care,at least he wasn't called a "Loser",not in those occasions anyway. Tyler feared and hated that word. Tyler actually feared many things in his life. Deep down his worst fear was his own father.

Then Tyler started hating. What? Everything. He hated being tired,he hated being awake,he hated going to school,he hated his brain,he hated people,he hated his old team in Ohio,he hated having to move to New Jersey,he hated New Jersey,he hated the people in New Jersey,he hated his new team,he hated the students,he hated his mess,his teachers,his neighbors,himself,his mother,his brother,his dad,his illness,basketball. He hated playing basketball but he couldn't stop now,he couldn't bring himself to quit. He couldn't bring himself to lose a match,he couldn't bring himself to stop coming to practice,he couldn't do anything. And he hated it. It was that year he became aware of how deep he was and how he couldn't get out,he became aware his dad controlled his life,and everything he did,his friends,what he ate,what he liked and what he didn't. Hell,he used to like playing the ukelele and he stopped playing after his dad told him music was for "Losers". He became aware of how his dad treated him. Like a dog. His own father treated him like an animal. But now he couldn't fight back,too late. That realization sank deep in him,but he had to brush it off or he would something stupid,and his mind would be a mess,the type of mess his mind does when he's doing homework or anything needing to think too much. But for a long long time,his mind ran free,and he knew the person he was was not himself,his father destroyed who he really was,his father destroyed everything to build the perfect son he always wanted. And Tyler couldn't help but loathe himself more and more everyday,sinking with the pressure his dad was throwing at him with every match,every grade,everything. He never had a day to rest,not even his mind could. His body became far too numb,but his mind was and is still running around showing him how uselessly dependent of his father he now is. Because Tyler can't think or act for himself anymore. And he hate and loathe every second of it.

Tyler didn't have a life,or real friends,a real family,or even a reason to live. Tyler was empty,because without his father,he was nothing,he would disappear,he was a shell,he needed someone to help him live because he would never be able to do it by himself. His mother was his first help,but now he father was,and he wasn't even helping. Just controlling,manipulating,he knew this couldn't be healthy,but was no one to question it,because it's true. He was nothing. All he had was because his father wanted him to have it,nothing was his,not his thought,not his words,not even the way he acted. He was lesser than a slave now,he was nothing. Tyler can't never be fully free,Tyler wasn't strong enough to be. Or maybe he was one day,but it got taken away from him. Tyler Joseph is not free,he never was and would probably never be.

Maybe that's the reason why he is here at New Jersey's High School on a Saturday morning,because he acted,or spoke for his father,because after all,his actions were not actually his,they haven't been for a long time,a really long time. Now he stuck here,on a Saturday at New Jersey's High School because of his father,because he somehow got here. He wished his father wasn't such a big part of him now. He sighed looking at the building he would be stuck in for eight hours. 

"Hey,don't worry,it happens all the time,it happened to me...it happened to a lot of guys,you know?There's nothing wrong with that,you defended your honor." He chuckled." Except you got caught on the spot,buddy."

"Mom would have been mad though."

" And who cares? She's dead!" He yelled at his son,making him flinch and regret his words." Now,you wanna miss a match? You wanna ruin your career? No mother or school is gonna give a scholarship to a discipline case like you,get off my cars and go get what you deserve."

Tyler blinked a few times inhaling loudly and got off the car closing the door loudly. He hated his dad he hated him,all he really want is this day to get something useful out of it. Maybe learn to fight back,to stop listening. A change,cause this is what detention is about right? A change in someone's behavior,right? Well he really hopes today is going to work,because Tyler felt like giving up for far too long,now. He wants a change,and he is going to get it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay seriously was it bad? Or was it okay? Please tell me cause I hate this damned chapter.


	4. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting is only worth it when you have something to fight for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god this took so long to write and it's so SHORT the shortest chapter by far,I'm sorry! I got my iPad taken away and I only had access to it every few days for a very short time and ugh I'm sorry this is so shit,really. I hope anyone who's reading this won't be too disappointed.

Chapter 4 : Rebel

_"Give_ _a cheer to all the broken,cause after all,that's how we're seen!"_

 

There are different types of teenage rebellion: the violent ones,the punk ones,the pop-punk ones,the ones with Christians parents who thought it was a good idea to send their kids to a catholic school,the ones who wants to seem cool,and of course,the criminals. All of these can have a cause behind,most of them do,anyway. And they can be mixed too,it's not rare,but clearly not seen as something good. I mean,what rebellion is seen as good?

Well Frank is kind of an everything mix. He doesn't have much hope anymore in his life,but hey,it's worth fighting for,right? Not really,no.  
Frank is kind of the criminal,violent,punk one. Not really his fault,he is clearly short and he has to somehow frightened people away from him,even if it doesn't always work. It works pretty well for him,most of the time anyway,he's the midget who can throw one hell of a punch and headbutt people's balls. And his shortness makes it easy to do it.

He had to win that reputation though,with bloody fists and bruised limbs. But what cost? lack of friends. But he wasn't complaining. Well,not verbally anyway. He does complain because he's a little shit,but only about normal things,not the stressful,painful,things in his life that no one seems to notice,or care.

Most people assume the bruises on his body,or the split lip came from a fight with someone at school,well they're not wrong,except for the fact that most of the time,no,it's not from school,or the jerk who called him a "fag" or "midget",it's not from the jock who hit him too hard in EP,or the fight he had just the week before,or even the guy who fucking laughed at his face after slamming him against a wall,It could be,but it's not. But Frank isn't going to complain about it,because,come on,what good would it do? It would just be a cry for attention. Like most of the things he does,actually.

Frank likes attention,he loves it and need it,that's why he causes so much troubles at school,or anywhere else. Everyone blames him whenever something bad happens,and yeah it's cool,he's okay with it,that way people knows better than to fuck with him-they still do though,they just know what to expect-. But it also brings him way too much trouble,and he can't really afford that,he really can't. For various reasons,the first being education,he really wants it,he really needs it. The second being his fear of getting expelled of a school. Again. Because surprisingly -or not,it depends on our own opinions made of him- Frank cares about learning and he really doesn't want to change to a third high school,he actually likes it here. Except for Vernon,it's Frank's opinion,that guy can go fuck himself. Frank has been in a lot of shit because of that guy,he wishes he fell down a cliff or something,maybe the bridge,it's a good place to jump out off,he would willingly push him.  
But no,Frank has to swallow that down,and keep going,even if seeing Vernon's ugly face is a regular thing.

Regular in the sense that this is isn't his first detention,and probably not the last. He actually finds it kind of reassuring to walk up to school and spend his Saturdays there. At least he doesn't have to face people at home,well, "place","house",because that place is really not something someone would call "home". But that is beside the point right now,Frank doesn't want to get melodramatic in his internal monologue of life struggles,we will get there obviously,but right now is not the moment. We are talking about the familiarity of the situation,as Frank steps slightly to the right to avoid getting ran over by that car. He doesn't really care,he wouldn't have cared either if said car actually crushed him,he's a tiny man,he probably wouldn't have survived that. Or maybe yes,it would be quite disappointing.

Disappointment,what a wonderful word to describe Frank entire existence. Highly disappointing. Frank surely should have deserved something better than this awful life of his. That's what his parents says about him,that's what some teachers says about him,also some guys around and maybe some of his neighbors. It's mostly his parents though,sometimes for getting in trouble,mostly for being born. We still aren't getting into that,Frank refuses to. It's his own mental monologue,after all.  
Frank qualifies his latest years as highly disappointing. He had not achieved much in his 16 years of life aside from a reputation and maybe that A in math once in first grade. He did achieve things,but it seems like none of them actually matters when your life is a disappointment. He did bought his own guitar,and he's a rather good player. Sometimes he plays in local bands when they need a replacement or for fun. He wished he had his own band,that would actually make him happy. Yes,actually happy. Because Frank loves music. And you know what else this guy right here loves? Tattoos.

And let me tell you he has a bunch of them. Thanks to his cousin,he gets a familial discount and well,it's family,his cousin knows what's up and won't question why his 16 years old cousin is being tattooed. Cause it's basically illegal,unless you have your guardian's permission. But they both know it won't happen,and not that Frank cares,his parents are assholes. We still aren't getting into that Frank REFUSES TO. Let's go back to the amazing cousin with the amazing fro,yes that cousin is cool,he does tattoos,but doesn't have one,he's a guitar pro and gave Frank his lessons,sometimes he lets him crash at his place when things get too bad at ho-

You know what? Fuck it. Frank is tired to avoid something that keeps coming back with everything. Because every fucking thing is caused by that. The reason he gets fucking bullied and beaten up school? His parents. The reason Vernon hates him? His parents. The reason he can't seem to trust people,or flinch every time someone starts talking too loud? His parents. The reason behind that weird cigarette burn scars at the back of his neck? His parents. The reason why he can't go to school some days because everything hurts so bad he can't even move,the reason he'd rather get detention than go back home,the reason behind his lack of self control,the reason why he never seems to have a limit,the reason he talks back,fights,scream and cry,the reason why a simple compliment feels like Christmas,the reason why an achievement feels like reaching the top of a mountain,the reason he feels dirty,worthless,useless,ugly,talentless and really fucking stupid. All that,every single thing in here,it's because of his parents.

Remember the guitar we talked about? His father used it to beat him up after he heard the first strum of it. The tattoos? He got them after his mother called him an ugly piece of shit. The reason behind the bruises that come of nowhere? You should ask them,they are made in Parent. A thousand percent organic,mad by hand-and fists,and kicks and sometimes sharp or burning objects-.

Frank hates his parents,and his parents hates him too. Such a pretty story,right? No,not at all. His parents never wanted him,he was an accident,a broken condom in a parking lot after a drunk party. He was that ugly crying thing his father tried to drown in the bathtub,but never got to do it cause the neighbors came to say hi,he was the toddler that smelled like piss in kindergarten because his mother found him repulsive and refused to even touch him. He was the kid with wrong ideas of the world because even his parents hated each other. He was the kid who had no idea what love was,he was the kid who no one was brave enough to stand for. He was the kid with dreams,and a will to survive and prove all the motherfuckers in his life he was stronger. But everyday it got harder,like his father breath smell or his mother "lovers". Frank was never taught when to stop,when things were enough,because who the fuck would tell him? Why do think he got the tattoos? Why do you think he keeps stealing his dad's money or his mother's make up? Frank had no self control,but who cared if the outcast midget kid got in trouble? Aside of Vernon and his cousin,no one. But it wasn't stopping him from trying to prove them wrong.

Maybe he did want that car to run him over,because today was Saturday and had detention again at New Jersey's High School,because what he did was disappointing and wrong,but what about him was right? Frank wasn't expecting a change today in another Saturday morning at New Jersey's High School,he stopped waiting for changes. He was disappointed for having to spend time here again after almost two weeks of staying low,but he was also disappointed of his parents and himself,so what is another Saturday morning at New Jersey's High School? Nothing,and it's never going to change.

Because one day can't change your whole life.And Frank Iero already knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well,how was it? Not too bad? I hope I did good on this one,I'm not really pleased with it. And I'm probably gonna have a mental breakdown if I forgot to correct anything,that would be embarrassing.
> 
> Anyway tell me what you think!


	5. Invisible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts are invisible to normal people,maybe he has a superpower or a bad luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo it has been so long,I'm sorry,I'm still supposed to be grounded but I still sneak my iPad out to write a bit. I hope this is a good chapter.
> 
> Also,I have a fantastic beta who has already beta'd the first two chapters,which are just fantastic to read,you should go back an read them,cause I just love them.

Chapter 5: Basket Case

"No one ever sees me,I could throw a punch at you and you would blame someone else."  
"You know I didn't mean it,right mom?" He stared down at his fingers,moving them nervously. "I didn't mean to do it." Still no answer,his eyes focused on the road this time."I know you are angry but I" He was interrupted by the car stopping sharply,then heard his mother curse under her breath,looking at the boy walking by her car like he owned the world.  
There was a heavy silence then,something needed to be said,but it was clearly that neither of them wanted to break it. One to avoid talking to the younger,and the other to avoid upsetting the older. He heard the impatient drumming of his mother fingers against the steering wheel,swallowed sharply and proceed to get out of the car.  
"You have to pick me up at the normal hour,don't forget like last time,I know you didn't mean it. I love you mom." He closed the door,stood there a second and leaned down to look at the car window for a final goodbye,but his mother drove away before he could do anything. He sighed and hugged his large coat a bit more.

There's no real way to start this one by trying to make a positive intro like Patrick's or Tyler's ,there's no way around this one. Dallon is ignored,and that's it. Dallon didn't have much luck in his life,that's all there is to say. Dallon was sad,straight to the point. But Dallon liked to lie,this is a fact.  
Dallon has no friends,he spends most of his high school days alone,recollecting people secrets and snickering to himself,because being the invisible kid has it privileges too. Dallon was so so ignored that he could ditch an entire day of school and no one would notice,Dallon was so invisible he could steal people stuffs right under their noses and they wouldn't even see him,and probably blame someone else,Dallon was so so invisible he could scream in the middle of the fucking city and everyone would think it was a car honking. That's how invisible Dallon is.  
Dallon is that blurry face in your dreams that you are sure your brain made up,because,who even remembers seeing that face before? No one. Because Dallon is invisible. He's that shadow in the corner of your eyes,or that kid you bumped while walking down the hall. People know there's a Dallon in school,but it's like no one never actually saw him,some can give the name a face. Some,maybe a few,probably just teachers,not even them. He's a ghost.

Dallon likes to listen to people. He loves hearing people dirty little secrets,their lives or whatever they are talking about. He likes stalking them sometimes. Not in a creepy way obviously,he wouldn't follow them to their houses,just at school. For a long time he had a vague interest in the popular guy who is in most of his classes,he used to think he was pretty,but oh so ruined. He liked that,but he moved on on someone else because said person was too much like him and he'd rather not be reminded of it.  
Because everyone has problems,they are good at hiding them.

Dallon can start a lot of problems at school,if he wants to. But he knows they would find out it's him,or maybe not,Vernon would certainly blame the tattooed punk with the sad eyes,because any excuse is good for Vernon to punish him. Dallon used to stalk him too,but just like the popular one,he couldn't keep it going. And he doesn't like attention anyway,he likes being aside of the drama,aside from the people,aside of the problems he could cause,aside from what he is scared of. He'd rather avoid causing anything that could disturb everything around him. The world is confusing enough for him.  
Not that he likes the order,but disorder makes him anxious. Disorder not caused by him,to be specific,because if it's caused by him then it's a good kind of disorder,it's one he knows he'll have to clean,but whenever he wants. Which isn't really logical,but who is in this life? Certainly not Dallon. This whole sentence is a mess,but it's his mess so it's okay.

Dallon likes a lot things,he loves sweets,music and good jokes. He likes eating whatever he wants and staying up all night,because there's no one to tell him not to. He also loves lying,but he doesn't have anyone to lie to,so he lies to himself.  
Dallon lies to himself saying things like you're happy,you can do whatever you want,you could burn the toaster and no one would tell you anything or people know you exist,they are just playing hide and seek and you're the invisible man or also your parents love you and they care,that's why they work so hard to make you happywhich is probably the biggest lie of them all.  
Well,is not like they don't care,but most of the time they forget they even have a son.  
Mr and Mrs Weekes are very busy people who either spend most of their time out at work or cheating each other,we could try and guess which is the most common one but it would be a waste of time because it's as clear as Dallon blue eyes. His parents are barely ever at home,which has left Dallon home alone all his life. At first,when he was way too young,they paid him a babysitter,Marta, who was only nice to him for money,then his grandma they had to fire the babysitter because she stole most of their things,she blamed Dallon,then they caught her,funny story to tell his he even had friends,but his grandma died,and she was the only family left that really,actually like him. Dallon misses her a lot,she was a great woman.

Then when Dallon could finally do things for himself,it was like he never existed. Dallon was always alone in a house to big and empty for his taste,he always felt like a stranger,like this wasn't his home. It was too lonely and silent,cold and with a strange taste of abandonment to it. Dallon knew he was only there because he had to,because sometimes,his parents knew there was someone else living there with them and they couldn't exactly let that person without a house because somehow,they knew that stranger there was their son or was it a daughter? ,but,did they even know who he was? Not at all. Dallon was like a house guest,a roommate,someone his parents hosted. A parasite sometimes too.  
The only words they even shared were polite "hello" and "how are you?",but only when one of them was home,and they always seemed surprised to see him. Dallon didn't blame them,he was surprised they even noticed.

Growing without parents made Dallon someone reckless,with no social skills,and no common sense. Even with Marta,he had always done what he wanted,because who was there to stop him when he did really fuckingbstupid things like drinking his father wines when he was ten or burn his mother favorite earrings? Marta surely wasn't there,and it wasn't like she cared,she only wanted money. Dallon has no concept of "wrong" and "right" because no one ever was there to teach him. His grandma may have did something,but their time together was short,and he forgot everything.

A lot of people may have said it was a call for attention. Maybe it was,Dallon wasn't sure.

Dallon did get attention from his parents. Sometimes. Mostly when they were angry,or stressed,and for a long time,he liked it,even if it was a wrong kind of attention,but what does he knows about "right and wrong"? Not much. Mostly what he saw on TV.  
But it was attention and he wanted it. Even if it meant screams,insults,crying,hits,used him like a one of those antistress balls,and other bad things,his parents barely knew he existed,and this only happens a handful of times every one or two months. It's something he could live with.

This could be the reason why he hated attention so much,funnily enough,he knows it is,but he wasn't going to admit it. This is a lie he also loves to tell himself,he likes to think his parents love him,that they just did it because he deserved it,he was helping them relieve the stress and anger his parents got bottled up inside,he didn't care being a punching bag a few times a month,it was okay. But he knew it wasn't.

He knew this was wrong,even with his minimal concept of it,he knew it was. He knew kids aren't supposed to be ignored by almost the entire population,he knew his parents lied and told they didn't have a kid,probably that they weren't even married. He knew a kid his age should have friends,a shoulder to cry on,someone to hug,someone to listen. But what Dallon got his a lifetime of loneliness and desperation,a lifetime of being a background character of his own life,he was the muted voices of a coffee shop in movies,the random pedestrian walking down the street,the book no one paid attention to in a bookstore,because it was too weird or too long. Because his life focused on others,it wasn't his.

It might be why his passion of stalking people might come. Because anyone's life is worth more than his,the ghost,the shadow in the corner playing alone,the invisible man who couldn't stop staring at the mirror and couldn't even notice his reflection. He wasn't a person,a person could see themselves,a person knew their lives was worth something,a person had friends,passions,love stories and heartbreaks.  
Dallon had nothing.

Dallon never had anyone telling him he stunk and needed to get a shower,so Dallon only did when he remembered. Dallon never had anyone telling him he had talent,so Dallon did nothing. Dallon never had anyone telling him this or that,so Dallon did both and neither. Dallon has no limits,no bedtime or curfew,no "stop drinking" or "eat more",no "stop playing with your phone and do your homework", Dallon has no rules. Dallon is like a kid,Dallon is lost.

And Dallon was still lost today,a Saturday morning facing New Jersey's High School,Dallon has no idea what is the wrong thing he has done. Dallon knows he must have done something,but he doesn't care,it's better to stay here at New Jersey's High School on a Saturday morning than face another day of solitude and silence in his room.  
Dallon also knows his mother is probably going to forget to pick him up,again. But he doesn't care,he is grateful enough that she took the time to wake up on a Saturday morning to drive him here,at New Jersey's High School.  
Dallon feels stupid,hugging his large winter coat standing like an idiot in front of the old building.  
He wishes things could change,he wishes he was normal,he wishes the reason why he is walking up the stairs of New Jersey's High School never happened because he had someone to stop him and someone who cared.

But no,Dallon was alone in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway,I hope this was good,tell me what you think!
> 
> Bye


End file.
